Black Lagoon: Sanctuary
by Knight Terror
Summary: Immediately following the events in Tokyo a wounded Revy disappears to a place her crew knows nothing about to enjoy the company of the only person she trusts when vulnerable.


**Black Lagoon: Sanctuary **

She wasn't going to make it to the elevator in time.

Balancing precariously on her left leg she tried to stop the door with the end of her crutch but came up half an inch short.

"You cancerous pus-spurting whore!" Revy roared in fury as the doors closed on the middle-aged woman inside who had made no attempt to prevent her from being left behind.

Revy hobbled forward and punched the sealed reflective metal door with her fist and immediately regretted it. The pain reverberated down her arm, past her spine and found the freshly stitched-up wound on her right shin.

"Fuck!" She hissed in venomous irritation and flung down her knapsack. Adjusting most of her weight to better lean upon her crutch she watched as the indicator lights showcased the elevator's climb up past the fifth floor with no sign of stopping.

"Hell with it…" She gave a defeated sigh and glanced towards the stairs as she wiped her brow and absent-mindedly tapped her left side with her right hand just to verify her single remaining beretta was still concealed in its holster under her jacket. She was used to carrying the weight of a second, but that one had been left in several pieces in a parking lot across the sea.

She wasn't sure why she had brought the survivor with her. Currently, she was far removed from the peak physical condition in which she was most deadly, but even if she was, this was one of the last places she would need to use it. Maybe it was just the reassurance of familiarity and habit, and knowing it was there in the event she needed to cap a motherfucker for whistling in her direction.

Not patient enough to wait for the elevator's return, Revy despondently grabbed the backpack and limped over to the staircase making a furious snarling sound between her teeth with enough fire in her eyes to ignite dry kindling.

Rebecca Lee, also known as "Revy" or "Two Hands", had recently returned from a less than satisfying trip to Tokyo with her associate from the Lagoon Company. He had served as a translator for their Russian client while she had served as his bodyguard. What was supposed to have been a simple assignment had turned into a clusterfuck of betrayal and bullets involving Russians staining the Japanese carpets with fresh Yakuza blood. Not that the Soviets had been the only ones redecorating. Revy had contributed quite a bit in putting assholes into the ground and in return had been stabbed in the leg with a samurai's blade deep enough to bury a time capsule. What annoyed her the most was that the final encounter had been entirely avoidable, but her associate had decided to get himself kidnapped like a fucking Nintendo princess and it had been up to her to save his scrawny pale ass yet again.

What was once a somewhat forgivable offense had evolved into a reoccurring pattern of mild panic, intense fury, and an overabundance of reluctant heroics on her part. Not that she couldn't handle it. She was probably the greatest gunslinger in the city of Roanapur, and that may as well have been equating her to the mightiest god on Olympus.

Upon her return home, she had put distance between herself and her crew almost immediately, checked herself into the grimy walk-in clinic to have her leg rebandaged and her meds refilled, and then caught a cab to bring her here. It was perhaps the one place no one, cop or criminal alike would ever think to look for her, and she fucking liked it that way. The sense of peaceful isolation came with a small amount of risk, however. Should Dutch have needed to locate her for a spur-of-the-moment job he'd be shit out of luck, which would no doubt involve her missing out on some serious green, but given her current condition she couldn't imagine a situation where she'd be required for anything short of moral support. Besides, she didn't like her crew seeing her like this. Wounded, vulnerable and in pain. In truth, she couldn't stand anyone seeing her like this at all, but she could tolerate one person looking at her, if that made any sense.

With every new step, the crutch made a soft clicking sound and she muttered a bitter "fuck, fuck, fuck" as if to echo it until she reached the third floor. Throwing open the door she stomped down the hallway, most of the overhead lights either flickering weakly or burned out entirely. Thank Christ the apartment she wanted was close to the stairs.

Revy removed a key from somewhere buried deep in her knapsack's ragged throat and unlocked the deadbolt, carefully maneuvering herself inside down the narrow hallway. Turning back around she shut the door much more carefully than she had the one to the stairway and navigated herself down the dark passage passed stacked boxes of legal files and clay pots containing dying houseplants until she reached the living room and dropped the knapsack down on the sun-baked sofa that had been recovered from a neighbor's curb.

Revy flicked on the lamp and finally illuminated the pitch-dark apartment.

"Shit Revy, what happened to your leg?" A calm voice inquired from across the room.

"Fuck…!" She hissed in surprise as she looked towards the young man sitting comfortably in the recliner in the opposite corner. "You need to start announcing yourself when I walk in so I know where you are. How do you know about my leg?" She added quizzically.

The young man shrugged and set down the gray cat which had been reclining lazily across his lap. "I heard the clicking of the crutch coming from down the hall and I could tell you were having more trouble walking down the entryway than usual. By the way, I heard the fire door shut but not the elevator. Did you take the stairs up here?"

Revy pulled off her jacket and threw it over the arm of the couch and then removed the weight of her lonesome cutlass before flopping herself down upon the cushions.

"Some rat-faced wrinkled bitch wouldn't hold the door for me." She sighed as she removed her gloves. The cat wandered over to her and rubbed against her ankles in greeting.

"Hey there, Hades. Has he been feeding you well?" She scratched the animal behind its ears.

The cat gave a warbled purr in reply and padded away into the small kitchen as if reminded there was dinner waiting.

"I heard some police chatter that some rival Yakuza factions went to war in a bowling alley somewhere in Tokyo. More than a dozen dead. Witnesses at the front desk stated a young woman was involved." He recounted to her.

"You don't say…" Revy murmured with disinterest as she kicked her shoes off and delicately began to remove her shorts, slowly and cautiously working them around her bandaged shin.

"Right or left?" He asked.

"Right…" She responded with a grunt as she tossed the jean shorts aside and sat back again, inclining her wounded leg to rest on a nearby box.

"I didn't think there was a gunman alive who could still tag you." He responded as propped his elbow against the chair's arm and rested his fist against his cheek.

"There isn't. I wasn't shot. I was stabbed." She clarified as she brought a cigarette to her lips out of habit and stopped herself from lighting it.

"I fought a fucking samurai, Miles. He tried to impale me against the concrete. Before I ended him, I watched him slice a bullet in half while it was in flight. It was…" She paused. "I mean, how do you even learn how to do that…?"

The young man named Miles gave a low whistle. "How many people throughout history do you think have been able to accomplish that?"

Revy balanced the end of the unlit cigarette between her lips as she rested her head on her arms behind her. "Couldn't even guess. I hope he taught the technique to someone before he swallowed my bullet."

She turned her head and looked into Mile's soft gray eyes. "Anyway, fuck all of that. How have you been?" she asked as she scratched herself under her left breast.

"Oh, you know. Enjoying the sunrises." He shrugged.

"Fuck off…" Revy let out a snort of good humor and held up her middle finger, which of course he wouldn't acknowledge.

Miles was a former Roanapur police cadet who had come to the city with the laughable intentions of making a difference as an honest cop. He had lasted two weeks on the job before he had been pistol-whipped nearly to death by his own partner. He had been only twenty-eight years old when the doctors told him his eyesight would never return.

When Revy had first met him, she had been throwing back straight Bacardi at the Flag when she had noticed this disheveled guy with dark glasses and badly coordinated clothing sitting a few stools away from her and looking about as miserable a kid in church. He was all hunched forward as if to make himself look as small as possible and he puffed on his cigarette without enthusiasm. His dark hair was a tangled mess and his short beard was unevenly shaven.

"Hey Bao," She had nudged the barkeep in interest. "Who's the tramp?"

The man had glanced over at him without much interest. "No idea, but he's been here for an hour. Hasn't ordered anything."

More out of idle curiosity than concern Revy had shoved herself half-drunk off the stool and relocated herself right next to the stranger.

"Bum a smoke?" She had asked before letting out a massive belch.

The man appeared startled as he turned his head in her direction and almost immediately reached into his coat pocket to produce a fresh cig.

"What's your story, sitting here all alone?" Revy lit up the tobacco without thanking him and leaned in close with her forearms draped across the bar. "You know this place is full of guns and hard ass motherfuckers who know how to load them, right? You looking to hire someone to bury your old lady?"

"No. I didn't know that." The man replied simply, staring down at his hands.

"Didn't know what?" Revy raised an eyebrow in mild confusion, not sure what the guy was implying.

"I didn't know this was a gunslinger's bar. I honestly don't know where I am. I got lost and heard voices from outside on the street, so I came in here to sit down and try to get my bearings."

"The fuck are you talking about?" Revy blew smoke into his face before the white cane leaning against the bar between them finally caught her eye.

"Shut the fuck up… For real?" Revy reached forward and plucked the dark glasses off his face to reveal panicked, colorless eyes that were watering from all the smoke in the air.

"You dumb shit," Revy smirked as she twirled the glasses carelessly in her free hand. "You may as well be a fucking rabbit on the gun range hopping along by the targets. You may go unnoticed for a while, but it's just a matter of time before someone spots you and takes a shot out of sheer boredom."

She raised her finger and thumb to point at him and made the comical sound of a gunshot.

"I understand…" The man replied anxiously. "I would leave, but I don't know where I'd go. I don't know which way is home."

"How'd you get here?" Revy asked as she tried the glasses on and blew more smoke in his face.

"Chief Watsup's dispatcher was supposed to take me home but he was drunk out of his mind." The man replied and waved the smoke away from his face. "I was terrified we'd wreck so I just asked him to let me out."

"Chief Watsup?" Revy slid the glasses down her nose. "Are you a cop?"

The man hesitated, his sightless eyes still focused on the bar in front of him that he couldn't see.

"I used to be."

Revy let out a noise somewhere between an annoyed grunt and a gleeful squeal.

"You dumb… fucking… shitheel. I can't believe you admitted that."

She pulled out one of her cutlasses and pressed it delicately against his cheek, and he immediately went rigid in terror.

"I could pull this trigger right now and get a round of applause from everyone in here. Then they'd likely carry your body out into the street to burn you and piss on your ashes. Watsup knows cops aren't allowed in this area, retired or otherwise."

The man's hands shook as he slowly raised them to cover his face as if in shame. "I didn't realize where I was. I'd very much appreciate you not telling anyone."

"It'll cost you." She teased as a wicked grin spread across her face. "How much do you have?"

"Two hundred. I think." The man sputtered, clearly becoming more alarmed by the second.

"Throw in the watch." Revy tapped the timepiece on the man's wrist. "Not like you need it anyhow."

"It was my father's." The man replied with desperation beginning to leak into his voice. "I wear it for sentimental reasons."

Revy leaned in close and whispered into his ear like she was slowly pouring acid into an open wound. "Was he a cop too?"

The man didn't respond for a few moments.

"Please…" He asked weakly in a way that made her smirk become a snarl.

"If I can't pawn it, I'll just hurl it into the ocean. Hand it over." She pressed the cutlass deeper into his cheek.

"Revy? What's going on?" Bao asked with suspicion from the far end of the bar.

"Fuck off, booze monkey. We're conducting a business transaction." She snapped at him.

"Revy? Is that your name?" He asked shakily as he removed his watch and set it down on the bar.

"Don't worry about it." She replied as she idly slipped the metal band on her own wrist. It was too large for her and it jingled softly as she let it slide back and forth down her forearm.

"I'm Miles." He tried hesitantly before opening his wallet and removing the cash. Before he shut his wallet she was able to catch a glimpse of his police credentials that verified he was permanently benched.

"Well, I'll be damned, Miles. You actually have two hundred and forty." She cackled as she scooped up the man's currency and stuffed it into her back pocket.

"All right, grab your cane and walk. I'll be right behind you. Don't draw attention to yourself." Revy stood up and the man obediently complied.

He carefully made his way across the bar using his stick to guide him as Revy followed half a breath behind in his wake, one of her cutlasses still clutched in her fist pointing downwards parallel to her bare leg. From that position she noticed the numerous scars crisscrossing the back of his head for the first time. When he pivoted his neck, the light revealed what looked like an indentation in the back of his skull, like a dent where someone had tried to deal him a killing blow.

Once outside she tossed the cigarette aside and crushed it with her foot.

"How about another cig?" She suggested.

Miles handed her his entire pack.

"Okay, look." She lit up a new smoke before continuing. "You're going to want to follow this road for another few blocks. Turn left when you hear the windchimes outside the laundromat. There's like seven, you won't miss them. Keep going until you smell fresh fish, then wait at the corner. That's the seafood place at the bus stop. I noticed you have a bus pass in your wallet. That'll take you back towards the safer side of town where I'm sure you can navigate yourself home. Don't tell anyone else you're a cop before you get there or else they'll break your jaw and spoon feed you your own teeth."

"Thank you…" The man replied quietly, his voice equal parts relief and dismay.

"One more thing," Revy added as she handed him back his glasses. "If I ever see you around here again, I'm going to spare you the anxiety and put one right between your eyes. You'll never see it coming." She let out a sinister chuckle.

"I understand…" He replied as he began to march down the road, his cane tapping the ground rapidly in front of him as he went.

"Dipshit…" Revy muttered as she walked back inside without giving him a second glance to return to her rum.

The following day, by pure coincidence Dutch had sent her to Watsup's office to deliver their monthly donation and Revy had paused on her way out.

"Hey!" She called over her shoulder. "Do you know a blind guy named Miles? Short dark hair. Used to be a cop?"

She wasn't sure why she had bothered to ask. She figured it had been morbid curiosity, but a small part of her mind had seemed concerned, almost guilty, about the walk she had sent him on the night before.

"Miles Bower?" Watsup had responded. "What about him?"

Revy walked back into the office, spun the chair around with the back facing forward and leaned into the chief's desk. "I met him the other night. What's that kid's story?"

Watsup raised an eyebrow before slowly lifting himself from his chair and shambling over to his filing cabinet. He removed a manilla folder and tossed it on the desk in front of her.

"It's easier if you just read it."

Revy flipped open the file and began to scan it, her chin resting on her crossed arms as she continued leaning forward in the chair. After a few minutes, she allowed herself to fall back onto all four legs with a loud clunk.

"Son of a bitch…" She hissed angrily and slapped her forehead.

* * *

An hour later she was standing outside his apartment door, knocking tentatively, her eyes on her boots. Watsup had filled her in on what few details the file hadn't included. While out on patrol a small girl had attempted to pickpocket Bower's partner. She had been very young and clearly wasn't experienced enough to be attempting petty theft on her own yet.

Bower's partner, hungover and infuriated that his hidden stash was about to be snorted by someone else, launched himself after the child in a rage trying to grab her. He would have succeeded had Miles not thrown himself forward and wrapped the girl in a protective hug, shielding her from his partner as he rained down blows upon his head and back, bludgeoning him with the butt of his gun as he tried to connect with the young thief.

Bower had kept hold of her even after he had blacked out, protecting her as blood ran from his fractured skull. He didn't release his grip on her even to draw his own gun to defend himself.

His partner had eventually been restrained and arrested and the girl was able to return home unharmed, but Miles wouldn't learn any of that until he woke up a day later in complete darkness, even though the sun had been shining bright.

Miles had opened the apartment door cautiously, clearly not used to receiving visitors.

"It's Revy." She said bluntly, then immediately tried to soften her tone to put him at ease. "From the other night. I… um… here."

She held out her hand before she realized he wouldn't notice the visual cue.

"Hold out your hand." She instructed.

Miles slowly obeyed and she dropped the watch into his waiting palm. His eyebrows shot up in amazement as he recognized the reluctant gift.

"Thank you…" He said with surprise and relief.

"I spent the money already." She continued quickly. "I don't apologize to people, ever, but I read about what happened and, well… this is as close as you'll get to me making it right."

She had turned to leave at that when Miles called after her.

"Can I offer you a beer?" He smiled.

Revy paused.

"You have any rum?"

* * *

Back in the semi-darkness of the apartment Revy had stood up and was hobbling awkwardly around the kitchen.

"I knew it, your milk is expired." She spoke sarcastically as she threw out the old carton and replaced it with a fresh one from her backpack before opening the cupboard and setting a new container of coffee and two tins of cat food inside.

"Cat food is next to the coffee. Do not eat." She warned him.

"Noted." He replied.

She hopped over to his kitchen table and set down two fresh packs of cigarettes next to his house keys before taking a napkin and wiping the dust off a framed picture of his parents that had been resting upside down. She replaced it the right way up before pouring herself a drink from the small bar.

Since his disability Miles had been working from home for the Roanapur police department analyzing audio files and helping to identify suspects based on accents and translating strange dialects. He could speak six languages and recite nursery rhymes in three more.

"How are Dutch and Benny?" Miles asked from his chair as Revy took a swig of her drink.

"They're still assholes. They say hi." She responded with a shrug.

It was a lie. No one on her crew knew anything about who he was or where she disappeared to once every few weeks. She didn't want them to know. This was her sanctuary, and the day they learned about it was the day she would no longer feel comfortable returning.

"What about that new guy you were telling me about? The one you went with to Tokyo. You keeping him in line?"

She drained her glass and set it down by the sink before popping the unlit cigarette back into her mouth.

"I'm going to shower." She responded without responding.

Pulling off her top she hopped down the short hallway into his bedroom. She dropped her knapsack on the chair and delicately removed her panties, wincing as she slid them down over the samurai canyon in her leg. She opened her bag and removed enough plastic wrap to cover the bandages, taped it in place and hopped into his bathroom, setting the cigarette down on the toilet tank.

There weren't very many things she could honestly say she loved in this life. Her cutlasses, smokes, and rum were the holy trinity that she regularly worshipped, with cash not far behind, but Miles's shower easily rounded out the top five. Not only was it spacious, but it had a detachable shower head with adjustable water pressure, a shelf for her drink, and, best of all, a seat built into the wall. Her own shower took about four minutes before the hot water kicked in, and that narrow metal crevice aboard the Lagoon may as well have been a drafty phonebooth during a Buffalo winter.

She shut the frosted glass door and turned the hot water on full blast and let it rain down the back of her neck and shoulders for several glorious uninterrupted minutes. She detached the showerhead and slowly sat down upon the seat and rinsed herself off.

Revy hadn't planned on ever returning to Miles's place after the first visit, despite his invitation, but after a few weeks of the blood and sweat and pain which was her daily romp with the Lagoon company she had yearned for the calming atmosphere of his apartment, his stocked bar, and the balcony just off his bedroom which gave perhaps the only worthwhile view of the ocean she had seen in all of Roanapur.

By the time she had made to leave after the third visit, he had offered his spare key to her. Her immediate response had been aggravation, not entirely pleased with what he was implying by giving her that, but what had made her reconsider was that she had heard from Dutch that retired cops were being targeted by limp-dick bounty hunters for easy cash. As a precaution, she had carved the words "Two Hands" into the wall above his mailbox in the lobby. Anyone with two brain cells who stopped by intending to cause trouble would understand that meant he was under her protection, and it made sense she would need access to his place if she meant to take that obligation seriously. She had yet to tell him she had graffitied herself in his personal space but figured there was no rush as he wouldn't notice it.

By the time she had left the fourth time, they had reached an unspoken understanding as to where things stood. Whenever Revy had spent the night previously, he would eventually leave the bed to sleep on the couch and give her some space. She had finally become irritated enough, or perhaps comfortable enough, to shame him into staying, offended by his acting like she had the plague. Her cutlasses had been within reach on the nightstand of course, but as she suspected, she hadn't needed them.

As Revy washed her hair with his shampoo, she considered what it was about Miles that made her feel more at ease than with anyone else, including the white-collar asshole back on the Lagoon. The obvious answer was because he couldn't see her and therefore couldn't spot the emotion she tried to hide behind her eyes. She was good at maintaining her tone of voice, but her eyes would usually give her away if something was wrong. Miles couldn't dissect her body language or give her bullshit compliments about her looks to earn points the way anyone else would. With him, it was like she was invisible or shielded.

But she suspected it was even more than that.

During her childhood, Revy had endured more pain and abuse than most people could endure in a lifetime, mostly by the hands of adult men. Miles was the first person she had ever encountered who took the duties that came with the badge seriously enough to sacrifice something precious for it. People weren't selfless like that in Roanapur. They killed for self-righteous reasons. They stole, they squandered, and they ignored children as they starved.

She had long ago accepted that was the way of the world and she held no hope it would never change, so she found guiltless joy in mowing down dipshits with her twin cannons because she was just another one of them and there was no salvation for their souls anyway. But Miles breathed the same air as herself and those fucking animals she went into battle with, and he managed to maintain a quiet dignity and live his life without hurting anyone and without succumbing to the rancid shit of humanity surrounding him.

She admired his nobility, like Dutch's, and his intelligence, like Benny's, but Miles had an additional quality. It wasn't only that he didn't hurt children, which was considered heroic enough by her own standards. His code went further. He actually saved them, and he made her feel like buried very deep inside her there was a better person who could possibly do that as well.

Whatever the reason, her visits seemed to revitalize her mind and soul the way an occasional massage would relieve muscle tension, and she wanted to cherish those refreshing moments for as long they would last.

She turned off the water and limped out of the shower, picking up the cigarette again and wrapping herself in a towel. His scent filled her senses as she returned to the bedroom and peeled the plastic wrap off her leg.

Revy respected Miles and would even admit being attracted to him, but she knew as certain as the sun would rise and that fresh blood splattered red that she could never truly love him. She wasn't even sure if she was capable of such emotion towards another person. Her abysmal past had forged her into the cold-hearted warrior she was today, and that strength and hostility were what kept her and her associates alive in this wasp's nest of a city.

Yeah, she killed people, and yeah, most of the time she even liked it, but she was not ashamed of who she was. She was exactly where she belonged, down in the shit of a gunslinger's paradise, and she was fucking proud of it. That meant their worlds would always remain too far apart, and even though she enjoyed the occasional visit, she could never completely transition into belonging there. The violence was more seductive and would always coax her back.

Revy wandered out onto the balcony and finally lit up, admiring the view of the ocean and allowing the warm sea breeze to dance through her wet hair. She exhaled slowly and watched the smoke vaporize into the empty air around her.

Her mind left Miles temporarily and returned to her troublesome crewmate, who, if anything, only confused her even more. She could nail down what it was she appreciated about the blind ex-cop, but the necktie sporting asshole was a different story altogether. Just when she thought she had him figured out, that he had resolved himself to the common law of the world around him that they were forced to inhabit, he would go and upend the whole thing by trying to rescue a Yakuza brat like a belligerent white knight who's visor was stuck shut.

Miles didn't try to change anybody. He knew the way of things. The asshole didn't. He always had to try to readjust things to fit as he thought they should. It infuriated her, but still, there was something to be admired about his stubborn resilience, and he had yet to make her so angry she found herself unable to forgive him. She hadn't thought her constitution could allow for such a distant threshold.

She heard Miles enter the bedroom behind her. In the living room, he had left one of his vinyl records playing softly. Some type of whimsical and uplifting shit, likely Italian. He had a massive collection of classic records that he kept organized using a brail system she hadn't bothered to learn.

She heard him light up his own smoke.

"You going to join me out here?" Revy called out. "It's a clear night and the view is pretty epic."

"I'll take your word for it." He replied simply.

Revy smirked. It hadn't been until recently she had realized Miles had a mild case of agoraphobia and didn't very much like the feel of being outdoors. He said it had started after he lost his eyesight, and while he could usually manage short errands during the day, he hated being outside at night. He said it felt hostile and dangerous like he would lose himself and never find his way home. That had only made her feel even shittier about making him take that long walk the night they met.

As if knowing where her mind had likely been wandering, he tried baiting the hook for her again.

"So, no long-term plans involving this new guy then?" Miles asked.

"I'm the walking dead, Miles. I don't make long term plans." Revy replied. "I'm a gunslinger. I could die tomorrow, and if that doesn't happen, I'll probably die the next night. In my line of work, you don't plan for retirement. You live in the moment."

She stood up and put out her cigarette in the ashtray. Leaving her towel behind on the chair she limped back inside.

"Speaking of taking advantage of the moment, I almost got killed the other day." She sat down on the bed and lifted her bad leg up to lay it across the comforter.

"Get those pants off." She instructed him.

Miles paused. "Happy to oblige, but what about your leg?"

"What about it?" Revy asked with irritation.

"It might impact your "always on top" rule." He explained as he peeled off his loose t-shirt revealing a lean but appealing upper body with what she considered to be the perfect amount of chest hair. His arms were more muscular than his chest, and his legs even more so than his arms, but where he really excelled was somewhere else entirely.

Revy glared at him. "You stupid prick. I've held off automatic fire with a knife through my foot and three cracked ribs. I can handle balancing on my knees on a shit mattress."

Miles didn't respond as he removed his shorts, the soft music from the living room still playing as she admired his figure in the semi-darkness. She was glad about not having to worry about him seeing the impressed look on her face.

He sat down on the bed and she rolled over towards him to assume the position when she winced and paused. Putting any type of pressure on her leg was agonizing, and she could feel her stitches straining.

Miles gave a small, knowing smirk, not needing to see what was happening to understand.

"Don't move." He instructed her and carefully repositioned himself so as not to bump against her bad leg. He found her inner thighs with his hands and delicately spread them apart as he lowered himself forwards.

"I'm all right, you fuckwit, just give me a moment and let me…"

But her words were cut off and she gasped when his mouth found her down below. She tilted her head backward and closed her eyes as he pleasured her.

"Fucking asshole…" She whispered between deep breaths. "Even though I don't do foreplay, you need to warn me before… ah, fuck…" She hissed and her left leg quivered in response to his touch.

"For a blind guy, you found that pretty fucking quick." Revy snorted.

She lay down fully upon her back, her wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, her right hand fondling her breast as he continued, Revy dropping profanities every few seconds. She rested her left hand gently on the back of his head where his scars were located and felt the slight indentation in his skull. She had been reluctant to feel it at first but had since learned he didn't mind where she put her hands.

There was something amazing about sleeping with a blind guy that she never knew she had been missing out on. Because she couldn't be a feast for his eyes, he would use his hands differently than other men. He would view her by delicately feeling her all over as if he was admiring priceless art, exploring every small inch of her where most others would prioritize her tits or ass. Revy also found relief in not having the stress about occasionally dolling herself up for his amusement with lingerie or anything like some common whore.

Christ, she really liked the way he touched her. Very much.

She arched her back and wrapped her good leg around his back as she finished, his hands traveling down her sides to come to rest on her thighs.

"Fuck you…" She whispered as she uncurled her toes. "You think you're so skilled? I'm not spent yet. Use your dick." She spread her legs again but didn't make a move to change positions.

"You said you don't do missionary." Miles pointed out. "You're always on top."

"Shut the fuck up." Revy hissed. As much as she hated to admit it, she was too damn comfortable on her back right now, and even if that weren't the case, he was right. The discomfort of resting on her knees would eliminate any enjoyment she would be getting out of being on top.

Resting his hand against her thigh to help guide him he slid himself carefully inside of her and she exhaled slowly and squeezed at the bedspread in response.

"Have you been taking steroids again you asshole?" She snarled through her clenched teeth.

"No, you're just tight as a motherfucker." He responded as he put his body into motion.

"Eat shit." She snapped as she lifted her left leg behind the knee with her left hand. Her right leg throbbed in pain at the steady rhythm of their bodies, but she ignored it and allowed the thrill of him being inside her to shut out her other senses. She felt her tits bounce back and forth rapidly began to wonder if they'd suffer from whiplash before she felt his hands travel up her stomach and gently cup her breasts as if to steady them. She appreciated that, as she didn't need the distraction of them smacking against her chin.

Even though she wasn't thrilled at being in this position, Revy couldn't deny she was enjoying it. There was a sense of graceful acceptance and trust that she had never felt before when she had the high ground and managed their rhythm. She doubted she'd make a habit of this after her leg healed, but she had to admit to herself she was pleased they were trying it.

After another moment Miles cupped her ass with one of his large hands and lifted her lower body a few inches while his other hand balanced her by supporting her outer thigh. Inwardly she marveled how every single time he had ever touched her sensually, his hands had always been warm.

"Where do you want me to-" he started.

"Fuck it!" She gasped back in reply.

In another half-minute, they had both finished, and Revy twisted her left nipple hard and arched her back until the wildfire inside her pelvis had dissipated and her head ceased its spinning.

Miles separated himself from her and wiped himself with a nearby hand towel before carefully navigating his fingers up her inner thigh and very gently wiped her off as well.

Revy propped herself up on one elbow.

"Pills?" She asked.

"Top drawer." He replied.

She reached over and scooped up the packet of individually wrapped meds she had left there during her previous visit.

"Water?" He asked, but she had already dry-swallowed one.

"Fuck water. I'll take rum and a smoke." She replied with a smirk. She could feel the tickle of fresh blood seeping out from her wound, but she didn't mind it. In fact, that kind of pain was practically dessert for her after a good hard fucking like that.

Miles returned to the bed a minute later with the bottle of rum and a glass. He held them out for Revy to take and after she had poured herself a drink, they both lit up a cigarette.

They lay in silence for a few minutes as the smoke wafted lazily out of the room via the balcony door and was swallowed by the breeze. Revy wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and set her empty glass down on the bedside table, dropping the smoking butt inside of it. She remembered the pain pills the clinic had given her were still in her bag. She'd hold off for now and pop some in the morning. She didn't need to dull the pain to be able to drift off.

"What time is the alarm set for?" She asked as she rolled over to face the balcony.

"Ten." He responded.

"That'll work." She replied. "Do you have anything to eat for breakfast?"

"Coffee and pastries." He said as he settled himself in and pulled the blanket up over them.

"What kind?"

"Cinnamon."

"Do you know that for sure or is that what the check-out guy told you?"

Miles chuckled. "I'm sure."

"That'll work then," Revy remarked.

Out in the living room, the sappy Italian record continued to play, but somewhere in the distance, she could hear gunfire coming from down on the streets. Miles could keep his music. She knew which lullaby she preferred.

"Revy?" Miles asked after a moment.

"Fucking what?" She asked before releasing a massive yawn.

"Did I tell you my former partner was murdered? The guy who blinded me? He was released a few weeks back. Someone cornered him in an alley and shot him up so bad the coroners had to carry him away in two pieces."

"Fuckin A," Revy responded simply.

"Wasn't sure if you had heard. You may have already been in Tokyo when it happened."

"I probably was." She answered emotionlessly.

Miles shifted his position and seemed to pause for a moment before going quiet again.

"Something you want to ask me?" Revy asked as she gazed at the view of good ol' Roanapur and the sea beyond though the balcony door.

"Good night, Revy." He responded with a satisfying warmth in his voice.

She smirked and shut her eyes.

"Good night, asshole."

18 Page


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